


& I'm Your Lying Heart

by tnico



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Politics, hello DA fans have you ever wondered, may i present: letho of gulet, what if the iron bull just quit Giving A Fuck and went HAM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29124642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tnico/pseuds/tnico
Summary: "All this religion aside, people who can't kill will always be subject to those who can."- Sgt. Brad "Iceman" Colbert
Comments: 13
Kudos: 45





	& I'm Your Lying Heart

"The gentleman may dress," the chamberlain said.

"Can't," Letho replied.

"The gentleman _must_ be made presentable--" the chamberlain started.

"Won't fit," Letho pointed out dryly, and gestured to his arms.

The chamberlain fluttered his hands, pulling on the sleeves of the line of embroidered doublets.

"It's an ongoing issue," Letho said blandly.

The chamberlain wrinkled his nose and let the immediate assumption that Letho is a mouth-breathing rube play out on his face, just like usual. Letho doesn't even have to try at it, really; they do the work for him.

People want a narrative. Something to cling to and shield 'em from the jagged truth that life is fundamentally a series of random collisions; that the rules of society they use as a shield can't actually do shit to stop it when you're first-up in the punch-line.

An idiot is an easy sell.

* * *

They made him wait for hours in the appropriately-named-at-least waiting room. There's a checkers set there, but not like there's anyone to play with, so he's not sure what they expected him to do with it.

Of course they can make him wait; as an unspoken prisoner, it's not like he's got anywhere to go. Well, not that they could actually keep him here, he reflected, mentally reconstructing the layout of the palace he's seen with an idle hand on the board pieces. Not with all those gaps wider than a boxer's teeth through their security.

But his boys in the dungeons ain't so good as him, and he's never been the type to leave his brothers in the lurch, so he's stayed.

* * *

"Do you know why you've been summoned here," the Emperor asked him.

"Yeah," Letho said, flipping the checker piece in his hand. "The Wild Hunt."

The Emperor stilled in a way that's probably imperceptible to the human eye. "You know."

"Ivar's obsession," Letho agreed. "And now the Emperor's suddenly all interested in us little Vipers again, even though we ain't no more or less venomous. Even set up a private audience with the last men to encounter 'em," he concluded, watching the Emperor's flickering micro-expressions through half-lidded eyes. "Not real hard to work that one out."

The Emperor was silent for a long moment, then stood with gravitas and moved to the small, checkered table in the center of the room. "Come," he commanded, "We will play chess."

"Not checkers?" Letho asked idly, spinning the piece between his fingers.

"You are versed, I believe, in the play of a more subtle game," the Emperor said, unfolding the full-on chess set onto the table from under it.

He's got a flair for drama. Dangerous, from a man so smart; self-awareness makes it harder to shift the ground.

Letho stood.

This close to Emhyr Var Emreis, Emperor of Nilfgaard, Lord of Metinna, Ebbing, and Gemmara, and Sovereign of Nazair and Vicovaro, Letho could easily break his neck.

He thinks about it.

"Never played much," Letho said, "but I know the rules."

* * *

"Starting with your strengths, huh," Letho said as he sat.

"On the contrary," the Emperor replied with a note of sudden irritability, "As a player, I am mediocre. The skillset for an equilateral board game is altogether different than that needed to manage a trans-contintental supply line, and only one of these things has aided me in winning battles."

His next words came out much more considered. "I do, however, find it an appropriate backdrop for what I wish to... discuss," the Emperor said, hands gliding over the board with purpose. When he got to his king piece, he pressed his finger atop it, met Letho's eyes, and carefully flicked it over.

Letho considered the implication.

"Witchers ain't much for getting political," he said.

The Emperor raised an eyebrow. "I'd heard you'd already met one Geralt of Rivia."

Letho grimaced.

"And what would you say of him? That Geralt of Rivia," the Emperor asked. He's picked black. Letho supposed it was, in a way, predictable.

Letho leaned back in his seat and considered, picking his words. It's something hard to describe. Something about the eyes.

"He thinks he alone knows what is good and what is evil, and that it gives him the right to dispense justice," Letho said after a long moment.

"And you?" the Emperor asked, making a move.

"Can't know any more than I know, can I?" Letho said, leaning forward.

* * *

"You've played this game before," the Emperor observed.

"Yeah," Letho said. "Recently, too. Well, mentally."

"Oh?" The Emperor asked.

"Mhmm," Letho drawls. " 'Gainst the mighty and venerable sorceress, Yennefer of Vengerberg. Y'know, she bit me once." He sent his bishop straight across the board before dryly adding "It wasn't sexual."

"Did she," the Emperor said, without inflection.

"Hadn't seen the Metinna gambit opening before, and she tends to take those sort of things personal," Letho relayed.

"And your position on the larger metaphor?" the Emperor asked.

"That could mean any number of things."

"Take a step back from the game and tell me what you see."

It isn't asking.

Letho thought about it.

"The board," he said, and holds a hand up to stave off the Emperor's souring expression.

"The board," he continued, "and how the rules that enforce it have no _real_ clout to stop you if you break 'em. And if you break those rules while nobody else will, well. Everyone's got their role on this stage," he reached out to tap his fingers against the black and white, "and'll do nothing but repeat their lines at you when you've gone off-script. And if you're not following the rules from the start, why _not_ drop a queen on a checkerboard?"

The Emperor stays silent for a long moment before he next spoke.

"I believe we may come to an understanding yet.".

* * *

"I witnessed the last job you took myself," the Emperor told him.

Letho was impressed. "Didn't notice any infiltration."

"You would not have," the Emperor said coolly. "The entire situation was artificial."

"I tore the guy's head off," Letho said dryly. He'd just been aiming to break the neck, but when they're flailers it's harder to keep a handle on your torque.

"All crimes attested to him were committed. It was only the escape that was arranged."

"Heard the escape was arranged by his crew."

"The Great Sun shines on all corners of the empire," the Emperor said serenely.

Probably that secret service of his. Letho always thought "secret" was a funny name for it; its greatest strength by far is that everyone knows they're everywhere.

All that power in his hands, Letho thought, and the Emperor wouldn't be able to do shit to stop Letho from breaking his neck, if he really wanted to.

Life's funny like that, too.

"I am not the sort to only find beauty within the excess of brutality," the Emperor continued. "I found it masterful. Absolute ferocity, executed with an astounding elegance. Brutes are rarely so tactical in their application."

"Still tore a guy's head off," Letho said.

"Yes," the Emperor agreed, "The willingness to use as much force as necessary without ever using it in excess is a skill unto itself."

* * *

Chess goes simply enough. Letho doesn't have to think tactically, he just has to know how tactical people think. From there it's just a matter of controlling their narrative.

You don't have to rat-proof your place, you just gotta rat-proof it more'n your neighbors. One step ahead's not hard.

They talk about the Empire's policy towards nonhumans. "Auckes and Serrit would be half-elves, even if none of us were witchers," Letho said. "Why wouldn't I not like elves, even if I was still human? I think the world of Aelirennn," Letho asked amusedly. "Just 'cuz it's stupid don't mean it's not noble, too. Die slow in indignity or quick down in history-- well, I guess it's a matter of taste."

Letho's still grinning. He doesn't bother tamping down on it. It's bait, and they both know it, in more ways than one. An implication of complicity wrapped in the evidence that Letho knows how to play the Emperor's double-talk game just fine, which means all those times he doesn't is because he's choosing not to.

He's aware that the Emperor's got to have little interest in judging his personal character and absolute interest in judging his relative loyalties, but it's kind of funny how the utmost secrecy of this all essentially forcing the Emperor of Nilfgaard to make small talk with what he clearly considers a talking sword with pretensions to personhood. How beneath him he considers it all is clearly starting to grate, from the minute tightness in the lines of his face.

What indignity one must suffer when one is the most powerful man in the world, Letho reflected. He can feel himself smiling. All the bowing and scraping and conforming to everyone's standards of politeness seems kind of demeaning.

Letho wasn't lying when he said he didn't envy Emhyr var Emreis, Emperor of Nilfgaard, Lord of Metinna, etc and so on. There's perks, but the job seems kind of shitty, overall.

"They're my brothers," Letho finished, "Much as they are by blood to each other."

"You have quite an amount of faith in your loyalty," the Emperor remarked.

"You'd know," Letho said with a shrug. "I figure you wouldn't be stupid enough to be in a room with me if you didn't have faith having 'em in hand would stop me."

"And would it?" the Emperor asked.

"Let's not find out," Letho said, and grinned.

* * *

"I won't insult you with the pretense my motive for equality has been kindness," the Emperor admitted to him as he picked over the board.

"And you ain't dumb enough to think it's been winning you loyalty. Playin' folk off each other is just good strategy. People love a face to hate."

"And they will have one, soon enough," the Emperor reflected, staring somberly at the board.

"Unity," the Emperor said, and slowly bent forward into a formal bow. "That is what I seek."

What indignity, Letho thought again. But people want a narrative. And like recognizes like.

That, he thought, goes a long way to explain why the Emperor's so unbelievably dangerous.

Letho remembered, at that moment, the rumors about King Radovid, terror of the Oxenfurt chess club, executing those foolish enough to win against him. Never backed credibly, except by character. Ain't like he hasn't killed more people for stupider reasons.

He considered, for a moment, throwing the game, and then takes Emhyr's queen. Might be too much of a big dick move, but hey: he's got a big dick.

* * *

He carried the captured queen with him as the Emperor leads them to the strategy table. There's many paths to power, but he's got to admit he's envious how the money way gets you all the toys.

Letho trailed his free hand over the table, tapping the border of Aedirn. "Heard Demavend's been upping his campaign against nonhumans 'cuz he knows they'll be tempted to defect when offered the parity Nilfgaard provides."

"And you," the Emperor asked, "Have you loyalties to Gulet?"

"No conflict there," Letho replied, amused. "Never been. Heard it's nice." He even means that sincerely, given Yennefer's begrudging description of it. He's always liked orchards. Even odds the Emperor will be able to tell, though; Letho's already learned to keep his tells from much better eyes.

"Best chance would be to take 'em out in one sweep and travel faster than the news. I'll even throw Henselt in for free," Letho offered. "Don't like what I've been hearing 'bout those burnings."

"No, of all the kings Henselt must remain," the Emperor said.

"It'll be significantly harder to get at him once the news has spread," Letho warned.

"Yes. From all reports, he is a vile man of little loyalty, distinguished only in warfare. When the odds of engagement are made unwinnable, his generals are most likely to turn. A bloodless end to the conflict is ideal. I don't seek conquest for the glory of battle. It is a necessity. I find," the Emperor said, "I have not much to prove."

"Just yourself," Letho said, jerking a thumb to himself with a wry detachment. "Been a while, huh."

The Emperor stayed silent for a long moment. "Indeed," he said before he continued.

"Meve has already been embroiled in succession; she'll not be an issue. Further, time is of the essence; we must use the succession squabble against Foltest."

It's strange to hear kings and queens referred to as peers, Letho considered. The only time he's ever heard that kind of candor is from drunks bitching in bars. But he supposes if anyone is, it'd be the Emperor. "Hitting the lines of succession hard, huh." Letho commented, spinning the chess piece.

The Emperor nodded once. "In my time ruling the greatest empire the world has ever known," he admitted gravely, "I have yet still found nothing as messy and frustrating than the matter of dealing with one's family."

* * *

After the Emperor explained his plans, Letho kept his silence, already revising and figuring he'll be far enough away by the time he does it better that the Emperor won't be able to interfere.

"Out with it," the Emperor instructed curtly, and that put a stop to that. "Your revisions."

"Call it a little Viper school trick," Letho said. "Learn to spot the veins, and you only need to land one hit to get the poison in." He moves to the map, running his fingers down its lines and positioning the queen at the front of it.

"The kings are immaterial, in the end. A collection of countries is a many-faced beast. Sorceresses are the veins of the north. Sketchy allegiances-- those who've seen kingdoms rise and fall don't have the same sort of attachments. Threaded throughout kingdoms in positions of power. And if you set the sorceresses off…"

"I cannot allow that," the Emperor said immediately. "Cooperation from the sorceresses will be vital in facing what's to come." More than all the other theater, more than the bowing, that sincerity to his certainty was what convinced Letho. He doesn't know if it's true, but he knows for sure the Emperor believes it.

He thought of Yennefer, her snap-quick always-hungering intellect and the incredible power she has at her fingers and how she'll never be satisfied with just good enough. Some people get ground down by the amoral trudge of life. Others are sharpened into points.

"You mistake me," Letho said. "My bet's on the Lodge for that one. Take it from me, when a sorceress decides she's going to raise hell, things'll soon enough start rising."

* * *

"Ugh," Letho said. "Look, are you sure you want me to say this?"

"I assure you, I do," the Emperor said, hands folded in his lap.

Letho closed his eyes and rubbed the sudden stinging pain that flared in his brow-scar. "It's-- look. You've got a tell."

"Do go on," was the Emperor's neutral reply.

Letho held back a sigh through his teeth and shut his eyes tighter. "You care what people think."

"Yes," the Emperor agreed, "As I must."

Letho shrugged. "So long as that's always your motive, that will be always your tell," he said. "Can't say I envy you. Food's good, though," he admitted. "So I suppose you got that."

"There are many, in this world, who would envy me my position," the Emperor said with a single arched brow.

"Nah," Letho said. "You can keep it. Got my hands full enough just with holding together three brothers and one bitch."

* * *

"Why, of all possible rewards, the school," the Emperor asked him.

"I'll be the last of us," Letho said. It's likely. He's just too strong and just too smart and just too _good_ at this in excess when most everyone else ain't even got a handle on one for it to be really in doubt. "And I don't want to die alone."

(Such a burden our grandmaster carries, Auckes liked to say. Must explain the arms, Serrit liked to call back.)

"A very human fear, for a witcher."

"Witchers don't feel fear."

"A common rumor."

"I don't feel fear," Letho said.

"Yes," the Emperor said. "That, I believe."

* * *

They'd known what they were in for. They'd talked up, down, and every angle on accelerationism during the trip over. Every time he sent them off, they knocked their fists together and said "on our own terms."

Ain't like it hasn't been school of the Viper versus the whole damn world since as far back as Letho can remember, back when he lost who he'd been to his Dreams. Letho can even admit it; he might even be looking forward for the chance to finally hit back.

* * *

He's the last of them, in the end. Just like they all knew he'd be.

Probably this was always how it was gonna go. Letho had known that, too.

Letho thinks the Emperor'll might take vengeance on him, next. Makes sense, he guesses. It's simple math, when you're the calculating type. Take everything from a man and you have someone with nothing left to lose.

It's a fair assumption. It's not like anyone'd be able to stop him, if he really wanted to. And the boys used to bitch often enough how he's a hard read. Better off with him dead than risk the Emperor's precious head.

Letho notes that he'll stick around long enough to deal with the Emperor's inevitable reprisal. Well, he'll figure something out.

He has so far. He's good like that.

Then maybe he'll head further south. There's nothing left here to stick around for, and he always wanted to see Zerrikania.


End file.
